


The Ruby Thief

by dandelionsandroses



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsandroses/pseuds/dandelionsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen, a professional thief and part time assassin, is tasked to steal a ruby necklace from Prince Peeta, but things don't always go as planned. "Historical" AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games world. All characters, places, and names are the property of their respective owners.**

* * *

The man sitting next to me calls out for another drink, and I find myself groaning. He's a scraggley older guy, mid length hair, might have even been called handsome in his day, but right now all I can think about how I'm going to spend the rest of the night cleaning his puke out of my cloak.

The tavern light is low, and I find that I have to squint far more than usual as I read through my leatherbound account book. _Sixty-three gold coins left_ , I mutter my breath as I take another sip of the house ale. It's disgusting, but that's to be expected in a seedy out of town bar like this. In my occupation you occasionally had to sacrifice luxury for security. Out here, in this middle of nowhere tavern, nobody even noticed me. I doubt half of them even knew I was female, their drunkenness not pushing them to notice anything more than the dark black cloak I have pulled tightly over my face.

What they didn't know, however, is that hidden in my pocket was a sapphire broach. A piece of jewelry that could keep every man in this tavern eating for a month. The thing is my latest acquisition, a little piece I slipped from the dress of the most obnoxious daughter of a Duke, some noble twit with an idiotic name like Shimmer or Glimmer.

Sadly, the broach is useless at the moment. I hadn't even planned to take it, had passed up on an emerald crown for the momentary satisfaction of ruining that obnoxious girl's day. Sure, I could get another forty gold for the broach, but I'd have to wait at least six months to sell it. The cut was distinctive and I didn't have a buyer laid out. If I wanted to get full value, I would have to hold back.

Out of nowhere, I feel a hand clamp down on my back, but before I can I ever slip the knife from my pocket, a friendly face pops into view.

_Gale._

"Catnip," he greets me, calling out to the bartender for a beer and taking the seat to my right, "figured you'd be here. Some noble, a Lady Glimmer, is missing a sapphire broach," he laughs, "know anything 'bout that?"

Gale and I had grown up together. Had worked together, even. When I was just a young thief trying to keep my family alive, he had been there for me.

I take a swig of my drink, "Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Well," he says, "I knew you were in town and so I figured, if you're stealing sapphire broaches like that you must be looking for work, and so I figured I'd give you a job."

I roll my eyes at him, "I'm not looking for a job, Gale."

"Trust me," he says, "you'll want this job," he rolls the beer the bartender hands him to the man on my other side, "Albernathy, you want to fill her in?"

My eyebrows shoot up at that, and as the man turns towards me, I see he's not the cranky old drunk I thought he was. The suit concealed under his suit is a fine silk, and besides, he's easily recognizable to anybody who grew up in Seam.

 _Lord Albernathy?_ What was he doing out here, fifty miles from our home in some seedy bar. Sure, Haymitch loved a drink. He was known for his alcoholism, bought up half the wine from our local black market, but why was he here, making dealings with Gale of all people?

"Gale," I groan, "what'd you get me into?" I pull some coins from my satchel and place them on the bar, "Whatever you're into, I think I'm going to pass."

But as I go to stand up, Gale grabs my sleeve, "You'll want this job, Katniss. Trust me, I don't imagine you're enjoying this dry spell, so let me give you an offer," he shuffles through his pockets and places a little velvet satchel in my palms, "just for hearing me out, alright?"

The satchel is heavy, and as I pull it open I realize why. There are at least ten gold coins in there, more than Gale would give to me on a whim. "Fine," I say, sitting back down, "what's the job?"

Haymitch leans across the stall, his voice lowered, even though half of the people here are too drunk to comprehend whatever he's about to say, "I want you to gain access to Prince Peeta's chambers."

I snort, "I'm not taking a hit out on the dear Prince, if that's what you're asking. Too risky, even if he is part Mellark, the other half of him..."

Haymitch shakes his head, "No, sweetheart, nothin like that. I'm just looking for you to take the Lion's Ruby. We both know the King is barely hanging on, Peeta will inherit the throne soon enough and the Palace is desperately searching for a queen. Ball after ball is being held looking for a match, it wouldn't be at all hard for you to slip past security if we spiffed you up a bit, a nice dress and maybe you'd look like a real woman."

I laugh, the Lion's Ruby was one of the most renowned jewels in all of Panem. But a job like that, it was impossible. The Lion's Ruby was stored in the Crown Prince's vault. I was good, but even I couldn't do that job.

I wrinkle my nose, "You're proposing we steal the Lion's Ruby from the Palace? That I, of all people, trick the Prince into letting me close enough to it? It's unpractical, and besides, can't Johanna take the job. You ought to know this is more her style." Johanna is a "friend" of Gale's, she'd tricked more than one man into giving her his purse. I didn't like her much, and I doubt I was one of her favorite people, but there was no denying she was better suited for this job.

Haymitch laughs, "I've met that little friend of yours, and trust me, the Prince wouldn't fall for it. You're more the boy's type, besides, you're the only one that can convincingly pass as my daughter."

"Your daughter," I raise an eyebrow at that.

He nods, "You need somebody to fake a noble pedigree. How about this, five hundred gold upfront, just for attempting the job."

I extend my hand cautiously, I needed the money and if Lord Albernathy was fool enough to offer five hundred gold… "Fine," I say, "I'll take the job."

* * *

**Author's Note: The following chapters will be longer, of course. This is merely an introduction to the subject. Let me know what you think!**

**Shout-out to the awesome tumblr peeps that helped me out with this one. I'm looking for a beta if anybody is up for the job:)**

**You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I also have a tumblr blog devoted to giffing Everlark fanfiction, which you can find at everlarkfanfictionclub.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games fandom. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners!**

* * *

The bronzed tip of my arrow bites through the air and I groan in frustration as it misses the wooden bullseye by all of two inches.

Across the courtyard I hear a voice call out to me, the low gallant grumble of an unmistakably drunk noble, "Gettin' a little rusty, sweetheart?"

I look at Haymitch, "What does it matter?"

I had spent the past two days at Lord Abernathy's estate, not too far away from where I grew up. Passing time with Gale, spending every hour Haymitch was sober memorizing the names and traits of various court officials.

Haymitch slips the flask from his pocket and takes a sip, "The woman is here. She's mighty expensive, so hurry along and don't waste my money."

Haymitch, not being a particular expert on court protocol, had hired one of the social women to fix me up before I went to court. Unfortunately, the training required for this assignment had nothing to do with how fast I could shoot an arrow or throw a spear, but rather my ability to balance books on my head. Granted, I knew enough to make it by amongst the noble class - I had carried out more than one heist by pretending to be somebody I was not - but by nature, I was not an exceptional liar and I always made sure to keep to myself. Gaining access to the Prince's quarters would require a certain finesse.

Haymitch drags me through a number of rooms. Despite having a handful of servants, his home still managed to possess the unique smell of ale and mothballs. It's a solid minute of weaving through dusty corridors before Haymitch finally stops at the door to the front sitting room.

"Here," he says, cracking open the door and pushing me forward. The room itself is quite pretty. Underkept like most of the estate, but I imagine it must have been the height of style when it was built. The cool stone floors and stiff mahogany seats contrast perfectly with the soft coral walls and gilded windows. But I barely notice the lavishness of the room, because the woman standing across from me makes it look dull by comparison. Everything about her screams wealth. The preened look of her body, the stiff tempered smile on her lips, the blue silk gown with that squared collar that all the women seemed to have taken to. It's all a little garish for my taste, but not unexpected for a woman from the Capitol.

Haymitch looks at her, his eyes lingering on her chest for a second too long, "This is my daughter, Katniss."

The woman looks me up and down, her eyes taking me in with a sharp assessment, and for a moment I wish I had taken the time to change. My hair is in a simple braid and I'm sure the muslin gown I'm wearing does nothing to help my appearance.

" _This_ is your daughter," she wrinkles her nose ever so slightly, "Well, Haymitch, I certainly see the familial resemblance."

My eyes widen at that.  _Haymitch._ For a woman from court she addressed him so informally.

Haymitch shrugs his shoulders, "She's my kid. I'll let you two work this one out," he turns towards the door, giving the woman a wink before slamming the door behind him.

The woman flinches at the noise, "Your father could really learn some manners, my dear. Now turn around, let me get a good look at you."

I oblige, slowly turning around for her.

"Well," she says, turning her tight lipped disapproval into a bright smile, "at least you're a pretty one. You should have seen the last girls I worked with, such hideous noses!" The woman extended her hand to me, "I'm Lady Effie, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Lady Effie is the daughter of a Duke. Still unmarried, even though she's was hitting thirty. She has always been quite involved in the social scene, however, and made a small fortune by introducing the wealthy daughters of lesser nobles to court.

Haymitch was right, she probably cost him quite a pretty penny.

* * *

"How does this help me, exactly?" I question Lady Effie as I practice her "trademark" curtsy for what must be the millionth time.

"Katniss dear, no man at that ball will take interest in you if you don't walk like a lady. Granted, your curtsy isn't all that bad," she sighs, "but you're a pretty girl, it should be  _perfect._ Who knows, you might even attract a Duke!"

I wrinkle my nose at that. The last thing I wanted to do with my life was marry some aging Duke with gout and two dead wives. I was here to steal a ruby, not find myself underneath a withering old man with a penchant for young girls. Effie, of course, did not know this. She didn't even know I had my sights on Prince Peeta, much less that my goal was to slip away with one of the most famous jewels in Panem.

"Well now," says Lady Effie, "I think we're finished. Why don't we take a break?"

* * *

After lunch and another four hours of lessons with Effie, I take the carriage into the Seam to see my family. I tell Effie I'm going to visit my sick aunt, and she sends me off with a basket of chicken soup and blueberry muffins. The ride is dull, like always. There isn't much in sights out this way, just trees and mountains and coal mines.

The part of the Seam where my mother and Gale's family now live is nicer than most parts of the Seam. We could afford it, after all. My own mother lives in a pretty little two story stone house along the merchant's circle, directly across from the apothecary I purchased for her not too long ago.

"Mother," I call out as I slip through the back door, "it's Katniss."

"Katniss!" shrieks and excited voice, so unmistakably Prim, "You're home!"

And that is when I see her bounding towards me, her blonde hair bouncing against the blue cotton dress. She looks beautiful, healthy and well fed with a pink ribbon woven through her locks.  _This_ is what I did it for. _This_ is why I was risking everything on a half cracked scheme to grab a priceless ruby. Because if I pocketed enough, I could finally be home long enough not to miss my own sister's childhood.

"Prim," I say, crashing into her with a hug, "where's mother?"

Prim takes the basket from me and sets it on the counter, "She is out with patients, are you staying long?" her eyes light up hopefully.

I shake my head, "Can't."

"Oh," Prim nods, "of course. I will let her know you stopped by," her voice softens, "You should have written."

"I know," I crack a grin, "How is Buttercup?"

Right on cue, my sister's hideous cat emerges from underneath the table, eyeing me warily and baring his teeth as if to warn me away. At least somebody in this family didn't mind me being away for long periods of time.

"So," I ask, "how are you doing, Prim?"

I reach into the cabinet for a glass, but find my hand catching onto a pot instead.

"We moved everything around, check the left drawer," Prim says apologetically.

I nod, moving to the drawer and pulling out two glasses, "Sit down," I tell my sister, "we need to catch up."

* * *

After nearly a week of nonstop lessons, Haymitch serves a formal dinner in honor of Lady Effie. His regal dining room is nice, but about three decades out of style, like everything else here. Nevertheless, Effie has already started to turn this estate into a well run ship. In between our lengthy lessons on decorum and which fork to use, she has managed to get the staff to start spiffying up the place. Curtains are being pulled down, tables are being dusted, there is even talk of pulling some furniture out of the basement and changing up the layout of the formal rooms.

"So," Haymitch says to Effie as an overly salty cabbage soup is served, "I hear you're tearing up my home."

Effie gives an almost condescending smile, "Well, 'Mitch, you cannot expect Katniss to wed well if she lives in a poorly run booze filled paradise."

Haymitch brushes her off, "Fine, whatever makes you happy, Lady. But tell me this, you thinkin' Katniss has a chance of attracting a man... _of a higher caliber_?"

"Well, Katniss is a lovely girl, if not a little rough around the edges," Effie brightens, "I imagine she inherited that from her mother. Do tell, may I be introduced to the woman who  _charmed_  you so?"

Haymitch chokes on his soup, "Katniss's mother is dead."

I cringe inwardly at his comment. My mother was very well alive a few towns over, but the less complicated my backstory was, the better chance I had of finding my way into the Palace.

"Oh," Effie says, "how tragic, you poor thing! With a father like Haymitch here and a dead mother, no wonder you lack so many graces! Don't worry sweetheart, I will have you acting with the grace of a Princess by the time that ball comes around, even if it is  _very_ short notice," she throws Haymitch a dirty look.

"So," I say, placating Effie, "I love your dress."

Her dress, or rather gown, is a dark red silk with a fashionably square collar and lace cuffed sleeves. It's terribly lavish too, as is to be expected, with a gold trimmed neckline and pearl beaded waist. I do have to admit though, there is something attractively tasteful about the ensemble. It isn't nearly as awful as half the things I have seen noble women wearing.

Effie gives the widest smile and her rouge reddened cheeks crinkle slightly, "I am so glad you like it, my tailor Cinna will be here tomorrow to fit you for a few gowns. He's a doll, does some work at the Palace-"

"Yes," Haymitch says, "and he is very expensive."

"Lord Haymitch," Effie scolds, "it is terribly rude to discuss costs at the dinner table. Mind yourself!"

My fingers itch for the feel of my bow, the senseless talk of the table driving me to instinct.

"Lady Effie," I say, "what do you know of Prince Peeta?"

I look at her expectantly, my mind wondering of the boy I had met, just once, so many years ago.

Effie's eyes widen with delight, the smooth red silk of her gown shifting as she turns to face me, "Oh Katniss," she says with a wink, "Peeta's a very lovely boy, I assure you. Not too bad on the eyes, and a perfectly charming gentleman to boot. Who knows, maybe you will catch his-"

A sharp knock on the overbearing double doors interrupts her.

"Come in!" Haymitch bellows, finishing off his drink.

A wispy red-headed serving girl in a simple black dress opens the door, "Lord Haymitch," she says in a voice almost too quiet to hear, "there's been an accident."

"Ah," Haymitch questions knowingly, "an accident? Get on with it girl, what happened?"

The serving girl gulps, "The Crown Prince was ambushed out on the road to the Capitol.  _Sir,_ they're waiting in the foyer."

My eyes shoot toward Haymitch and he gives me a little wink.  _The plan was in action._

* * *

**Author's Note: A special thank you to my lovely beta raissapl for all of her help with this story. Let me know what you think, this chapter was a bit of filler and it gets a lot more "edgy" in the upcoming chapters.**

**As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. Original words belong to me. Special thanks to my beta, raissa20!**

* * *

My "father" Haymitch takes my hand and guides me to the front room to greet our guests. Surprisingly enough, Lady Effie opts to stay in the dining room and looks positively frightened at the thought of seeing the Prince in her 'old' gown.

I put on my brightest smile when I see him sitting on the velvet bench beside the door with his men. He is undeniably handsome, different than I remember him though. His shoulders are broader and he's taller, almost Gale's height. His soft blonde curls have been trimmed short and there is light stubble tracing the curves of his jawline. Boys always become men, I suppose.

"Your Majesty," Haymitch says with a nod, almost mockingly.

The Prince stands up, "Lord Haymitch, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Unfortunately we encountered some unexpected troubles along the road and are in need of assistance, I hope it isn't too much of an imposition."

Haymitch shakes his head, "It's nothing, boy. Make yourself at home."

Making his way across the room, the Prince moves towards Haymitch, stopping two feet before the man. Out of the corner of my eye I see him peering at me, taking in my appearance and dress and trying to figure out who I am.

"And who is this?" he asks, his bright blue eyes shining at me as he smiles in my direction.

"That's Katniss," Haymitch says dismissively, "now come on, boy, let's eat."

* * *

I don't speak a word during dinner, but I notice the Prince's eyes on me all throughout the meal. I try to make that face the girls in my village used to whenever they were flirting with a guy, but it must not work, because he doesn't converse with me and he even sends me a sour look when Haymitch dotingly places his arm around my shoulder.

So instead of playing nice with the Prince, I retreat to one of the back parlors after the meal is over. It's a sunny room with comfortable chairs and light green furnishings, the perfect place to just be alone and work out my frustrations.

But unfortunately, I don't get much time to be alone.

I'm working on some stitchery when he enters the doorway, his lean body filling the entire frame as he raises an eyebrow and asks, "Can I join you?"

I turn toward him before returning to my stitchery, "Of course, my Prince."

"You can call me Peeta," he says, sitting across from me on the sun-faded red couch.

We sit there for a few minutes, me working on my stitchery and him just looking at me - staring at me, really, before he even utters a word.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, placing his hand on his knee and leaning forward.

I put down my stitchery, "It's your right, I suppose."

"That bruise on your shoulder," he says, pointing towards the ugly purple and yellow mark that I made while hunting, "tell me what happened."

I perk up out of fear, it's not as if I can tell him I was out traipsing in the woods. "Oh nothing," I say, "I fell last week."

"Katniss, you can tell me. Does he hurt you? It's alright, you know that."

I shake my head in confusion.

He sighs, "You don't have to stay with him, you know that, right? Honestly, I didn't think Haymitch was the type. And what can you be? Fourteen? Fifteen? You don't have to warm his bed to feed your family, I could arrange for you to leave this place if that's what you want."

"First of all," I say, raising my voice at him, "I am  _not_ fourteen! Secondly, what on earth are you talking about?"

He looks at me, "About your relationship with Haymitch. I'm sorry, and I don't mean to invade your life because I really don't know you, but it isn't right Katniss."

I freeze in absolute terror under the realization that he  _knows._ "Just forget about it," I say, "Why are you so invested in me anyways?"

"You remind me of a girl I used to know. And what do you think? That if you sleep with him, if you let him push you around, that he will take care of you forever? That he'll  _love_ you?"

"Wait" I say, "What? Who will take care of me?"

"Haymitch," he says, looking at me like I'm slow.

"Haymitch?" I question, my fear turning into laughter, "Your Majesty, Haymitch is my father."

Peeta's face scrunches up for a moment before it floods with realization, "Oh my god, I am so sorry. I thought-"

"You thought I was his mistress," my face turns sour at the thought.

Peeta turns red, "I have made a fool of myself, haven't I? Poking myself into everybody's business."

I laugh, "You could say that."

"Well," he says, leaning back into his chair, "You're Lord Abernathy's daughter? I didn't know he had a child."

"My  _father_ isn't much of a talker, I guess."

He gives me the slightest smile, "No, that he isn't. It is too bad, I would have loved to be introduced to you sooner,  _Katniss Abernathy_. Hey, you're coming to the ball at the palace in the Capitol, right?"

"Well,"I say, trying to play it coy, "I haven't been invited."

"What a gross oversight," Peeta laughs, "I will have to send you a formal invitation, then. Perhaps, since your father is hosting me here, I could invite you to stay up at the palace for a couple of weeks? How does that-"

Peeta doesn't get to finish his sentence and I don't get to respond with fake delight, because just as he is speaking a head pops through the door. Gale enters the room, his hair messily strewn across his face.

"Catnip," he eyes the Prince's presence curiously, "you have to come out to the back right now. The largest bear I have seen in my life wandered onto the property and one of the men gave it an arrow. You gotta see how big it is, come on!"

"I'm sorry Peeta," I say, "I have to go. I'll get back to you on that invitation, alright?"

Peeta nods, his gaze lingering on Gale, "No, no. Go ahead."

* * *

It isn't until breakfast that I see Peeta again. Haymitch has strategically placed my seat beside his, but aside from polite conversations about the weather and local events, he doesn't seem all that interested in me.

But later on in the evening, when Effie and I are sitting in the women's sitting room, I overhear him talking to Haymitch. Haymitch's loud bellow and Peeta's perfectly practiced laugh can be heard very well from our position beside the door.

And it's not that I intend to spy, not really. But it's pertinent to my position - to getting to the ruby, and so when Effie suggests it, I don't put up much of a fight.

And as it turns out, the conversation I hear with my ear pressed up against the doorway is rather helpful to my master plan.

"If you wouldn't mind it, sir, I wish to invite that daughter of yours to the ball I'm holding shortly," Peeta's voice is almost nervous as he speaks, his tone evident even from my position against the door.

"Well," says Haymitch, "if Katniss would like to go, there would be no problem with that. Besides, she's getting older, best to introduce her to society now."

I roll my eyes at his subtle manipulation, the way Haymitch so effortlessly lies about my place as his daughter. Who would have thought that drunken Lord Abernathy would be such an exceptional liar?

"Well I would love to have her, perhaps I could host her in my home for a few weeks, introduce her to the right people. Give you a return on your wonderful generosity," Peeta gives the man he believes to be my father the same offer he gave to me earlier. And it irks me ever so slightly, to think of him going behind my back when I had yet to respond to his invitation.

There is a quiet lull in the room, and in that moment Effie turns to me, giving me a large smile and a wink before resuming her position against the door. How excited she must be, to have her client extended an invitation by the Crown Prince himself.

Peeta speaks up once more, "Unless that would be inappropriate? She's not taken, is she? That Gale kid, perhaps?"

"Oh no," Haymitch says, "Gale knows his place, and he treats Katniss like a sister. You don't have to worry about that, boy."

My face flushes ever so slightly. The plan was working,  _Peeta liked me._ I flood with nervousness, my heart quickening, what was  
I going to do with  _that_ information?

* * *

**Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, it's pretty short but I wanted to update now instead of later. I'm working on a few stories so it is harder to get longer chapters out. Let me know what you think in the reviews!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I also run a blog called everlarkfanfictionclub where I make gifsets for hunger games fics, I recently made one for my story All Was Golden In the Sky if you want to check that out!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

Peeta spends the next day preparing for the journey with his men. I'm surprised by how easily he jokes with even the lowest of his crew, how he carries sacks with the rest of them, as if he isn't a man of a great wealth, a man who will inherit the country one day.

It's not until later into the day that Haymitch pulls me into his private office. It's a little room, perhaps the only room that isn't out of style in the entire estate, with dark wood panellings and family tapestries on the wall. It's about what you'd expect from Haymitch though, papers and boxes scattered all over the floor and a couple of bottles of rum shattered across the desk.

"Katniss," the lord says to me, "you've done well. The boy has asked for my permission to invite you to the ball."

"I know," I say with a disinterested shrug, "I heard."

Haymitch grins, "Atta girl, listening in, were ya'? And here I thought you were playing this game half assed, but you already have him twirling in your clutch."

I roll my eyes at him, "What do you want, Abernathy?"

"The Prince is out in the back of the house alone," he says, shuffling through some of his papers, "figured you could use the time with him. And could you grab me that bottle of liquor on the shelf?"

I toss him the bottle with a disgusted groan. The tip is helpful though, I hadn't spoken to Peeta all day and from what I know of boys they tend to be forgetful. It would be useful to see him for a bit, especially away from the men.

So, as I turn away from Haymitch, I head through the now bustling hallways and trudge out to the back of the house looking for Peeta. Much to my surprise, I find him half naked and splitting wood at the edge of the forest.

"Hey, Peeta," I say, crossing my arms over the light blue cotton dress Effie found for me in one of the storage rooms, "what are you doing?"

Peeta nearly drops the axe at the sight of me, a bright grin lighting up his face as he rubs the glean of sweat from his forehead with a rag. Without his shirt I can see the definition of his body, muscles taut from labor. "Katniss, hello!" he greets me, "I apologize for my state of undress, I didn't know I'd be seeing ladies."

I snort, "I'm no lady," I tell him, taking a seat on a nearby log, "I hear you're leaving soon…"

He sits beside me, slipping a brown tunic over his head. "About that," he says, catching my gaze, "I had the thought the other day-" he pauses for a moment, blinking at me.

"Yes?" I question.

"Well, I spoke to your father," he starts, "about what we were talking about the other night, about inviting you to the ball. He agreed to allow you to come, there was one more thing though. I was thinking-"

"Oh, Peeta," I say, turning my voice up in my best impression of a silly noble girls, "I'd love to."

The Prince smiles at me, his body shifting in my direction. "I was thinking," he starts again, "and perhaps this is too forward, that it would be rather convenient if you come with me tomorrow."

"Come with you?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

My head is dizzied for a moment. His invitation is great progress in the plan, but I expected to have time to prepare for the journey, time to study with Effie and more importantly, time to prepare myself for what I would have to do to Peeta.

"I j-just," he blushes, "You're coming to the Capitol anyways, and with all the bandits running around, I figured you might be safer travelling with my men."

I nearly laugh at the irony of it all, him wanting to protect me from the bandits - when in reality I'm the one he should be looking out for.

"I would have to ask my father if I can take the carriage so early..." I trail off, "but thank you for the offer, Peeta."

"Oh, if you wish to bring your own, that's perfectly suitable," he says half heartedly, "but you can always ride with me and I can just make arrangements for your way back. The royal carriage is quite nice, perfectly comfortable for two, and I do think the company would be nice."

I smile at him, "That sounds nice."

"Great!" he says, widening into a grin. "I will speak with Lord Abernathy first thing before dinner."

* * *

"Katniss isn't ready," Gale protests, "the ruby isn't worth sending her in there unprepared, not to mention the fact that we could just as easily lose our shot."

"Exactly!" I exclaim, hitting my elbow against the desk, "I need more time. Isn't there some way we can stall him? Vandalizing the carriage worked for us last time."

Haymitch shakes his head, "Somebody will get suspicious. This is a golden opportunity for us, think of all the time you will have alone with the Prince, sweetheart. Even a girl like you can nab him with that chance."

My lungs tighten in panic at the prospect of being alone with Peeta for that long, bonding with him - physically and emotionally.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," I spit at him.

"If you turn down the offer, how will it look, Katniss?" Haymitch questions me. "The Prince will lose interest and move on to another girl. Take advantage of what we have...I will even give the two of you a bonus."

Gale's eyes meet mine with a gentle shake of his head. _Don't do it_ , he says wordlessly. Years of working together have allowed us to communicate with nothing more than a glance, but that doesn't mean I have to listen. As much as I hate to admit it, Haymitch is right.

"Fine," I say, "I'll do it, but if this goes poorly, remember, you're going to be the one to blame."

* * *

Peeta and Haymitch are late to dinner. Discussing the matters of my travels, I imagine. Either way, with neither the Crown Prince or the master of the household present, dinner sits cold and untouched at the table.

By the time they arrive at the table, it's a half hour past and I'm hungry - a bit cross as well, having been forced to sit in front of my supper and make conversation with the men for a good thirty minutes.

Peeta's eyes drift to me the second he enters the room, his mouth perking up in a secret smile as he stands beside an only somewhat drunken Haymitch.

"I'm very pleased to announce," Haymitch bellows, snatching a glass of liquor, most certainly not his, from the table, "that might daughter, Katniss, will be joining the lot of you on your trip back to the Capitol. May your journey be safe and your spirits high!"

At that, looks pass around the room, cheers and drinks spilling outward. Gale, however, is mostly silent, a tired look covering his face. There is no doubt in my mind he will find himself on top of some serving girl tonight. By the looks of it, the pretty redhead passing drinks around the table.

When we were younger, I was completely oblivious to his dealings, but now I know he took up with girls whenever he was worried or upset. Haymitch drank, Gale slept around...they were all just ways to push away the troubles of life.

Dinner is over in a shorter time than it took for Peeta and Haymitch to arrive. Hungry men eat quickly, I suppose. Sooner still, we are all sent into the cluttered parlor, cigars and drinks passed around as fiddle music flows through the room.

Effie, of course, chooses to resign herself as soon as the first match is lit, but I stay behind.

I should be happy. I ought to offer to dance with Peeta or at least get a conversation in with Haymitch, but I can't be bothered. Tomorrow's journey will be a new dawn for me, the start of a long job. The Lion's Ruby won't come easy, or without sacrifice, and I might as well at least take this moment to breathe and clear my thoughts.

And then I feel a tap on my shoulder, a break from the comfort of my thoughts.

It's Peeta, blonde hair mussed through and the first two buttons of his jacket undone. "Katniss," he says with a smile, "mind joining me outside for a walk?"

I can't really deny him, though I wish nothing more for the quiet reprieve of solitude.

"Sure, Peeta," I say, standing up from the somewhat uncomfortable wooden stool I've taken harbor on.

Peeta extends his arm to me, pulling me through the crowd of rowdy men and into the front garden. "I'm surprised," he says, "that your father allows you to sit with the men."

"Haymitch," I stop myself, "my father, rather, is hardly a man of traditional values."

Peeta laughs. "No," he smiles, "he is not. Though you have only benefited from that. I quite enjoy your spirit and brashness, I do have to admit."

I smile back at him, unable to come up with a comfortable response for his compliment.

"We have a long journey ahead of us," he ponders, making conversation as we walk along the side of the house, "I only wish to ask you one thing."

"What is that?" I look at him, my voice etched with concern. _Had he brought me out here because he thinks me easy, does he intend to bed me so quickly?_

The flutter of my heart is stopped by the innocence of his question. "I thought to ask you this personally, for confirmation. Do you have any obligations to Gale? I know you might not wish to marry him, for reasons of status, but I must ask if you care for him."

I laugh, shaking my head. "No," I tell him, "it's not like that with Gale. Come on," I say, slapping him gently with my closed fan, "let's head back before people start to get the wrong idea."

* * *

The packing is quick and swifty. Effie is delighted at the prospect of my joining Peeta, I have become an unexpected success in her eyes, another name to attach to her services. She does, however, express some concerns over my lack of wardrobe, but Haymitch is quick at putting the issue to rest.

"No boy who ever fancied women has stopped to inspect her clothes, except maybe to check the lines of her cleavage," Haymitch snorts. "The girl will be fine."

Effie turns up her nose. "Perhaps _you_ haven't, but a boy of the Prince's caliber has different expectations for his women."

"I don't think," Gale speaks up, his eyes never quite reaching mine, "that Prince Peeta will notice whether or not the brocade on her dress is last season. When Katniss arrives at the palace, she can simply claim she forgot all her good dresses in the haste."

"Oh," Effie sniffs at that, touching her eyes with the silk of her handkerchief. "Why Gale, that is a rather ingenious plan. I didn't expect such a marvelous idea from your sort. And just imagine, what if by the time I arrive in the Capitol our Katniss is already engaged to the Prince - or perhaps even arranged to be his," her voice lowers, " _official_ _mistress_?"

Gale tenses up at Effie's suggestion, his jaw tightening. "Ah yes," he says stiffly, "that would be great, wouldn't it, Katniss?"

The question is meant to be a dig at me. I know Gale's not too keen on recent developments, or more accurately, not too keen on my being alone with Peeta for so long.

I nod. "Of course," I say, mostly for Effie's benefit, "there is no greater honor than a position with the Prince."

 _Or more accurately_ , I think, _the Prince's ruby._

* * *

A serving girl wakes me early in the morning. I'm used to waking up at the crack of dawn, mostly due to my hunting and the nature of thievery. "The thief comes in the night," as one of those religious books proclaimed. But I'm woken before the sun has even started to come up. It's still pitch black outside when the girl shakes me, urging me to come and get dressed.

Peeta's men, it seems, had decided to leave earlier than normal in order to throw any local would-be robbers off their tracks. So, with a little protest, I wash my face and prepare for the day to come.

The dress is a rich green, finer than something I'd wear of my own volition, but still sensible enough for travels. It's a heavy fabric, not quite velvet but hardly cotton, soft enough for the discomfort of a carriage, but warm enough for nights spent outside.

I'm not surprised to find a series of daggers woven into the sides of my underclothes - preparation, most likely the request of Haymitch, for the days to come. I wish for nothing more than to be able to keep my bow on me, but I suppose that would look too suspicious. Besides, if anything goes wrong, I can always snatch one off of Peeta's guards.

 _Peeta_ , I think, pausing as I slip into my shoes. I can only hope that the boy doesn't become too forward when I am his guest instead of him being mine. And more importantly, I can only hope he doesn't recognize me, doesn't realize where we've met before.

Because if he discovers who I am, we are all in jeopardy of losing our heads.

* * *

**Author's Note: Big thanks to my beta, (raissapl on tumblr), for all her help and catching a few inconsistencies! I know it's been a while since I updated, but I'm finally back in the writing groove and hoping to get the next chapter out soon.**

**Thanks for reading. Make sure to follow, review, etc. You can check me out on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content, creation, and ideas. Thank you all for reading and kudos to my beta for all of her lovely help! For the lovely anon who messaged me, this is the chapter. I think AO3 has some server issues or something?**

* * *

Effie nearly cries as she says goodbye to me. I think they are mostly tears of pride, though. Gale's, however, are real. I barely notice them at first, they are just two droplets underneath the corners of his eyes. I would probably tease him for it, but I have never seen Gale cry before. Not since his little sister Posy contracted a fever and nearly died.

No, Gale never handed things with tears. For him it was always shows of bravery and silence. We were both similar in that regard, keeping things to ourselves and never showing weaknesses.

" _Do what you have to, but don't step over a line you can't uncross,"_ he whispers in my ear as he helps me into the gold plated carriage.

I nod wordlessly to him, waving goodbye to the gathering crowd and pulling my body inside of the carriage where Peeta awaits in a dark blue velvet suit.

"You'll miss them," Peeta says with a nod as his men close the door.

I nod in agreement. It's a lie though. While I have enjoyed spending time with Gale, I have no real attachment to any of these people. My family back home, sure, but I have spent the past few years on the run...it wasn't uncommon for me to be away from the ones I love.

But I fake it anyways. "Yes," I tell him, "they're family."

Peeta laughs a little. "I can't say the same for my own family. Being here out in the country, with Haymitch and you, it's a breath of fresh air from the Capitol. I make any excuse to leave so I can."

I bite my lip on reflex. His words remind me so much of the ones he said the last time we met, _the time he hopefully doesn't remember._

"You will be king soon enough," I say. "Then you will be forced to spend most of your days in the Capitol."

It's hard for me to garner sympathy for a boy who has everything. I myself don't care much for the Capitol, but the complaints of a Crown Prince don't merit much worry on my part.

"Don't remind me," he snorts. "It will be different, then, though. There are always summer palaces, and I will be in charge then. And of course," he says, eyes drifting to my side of the carriage, "I will have a wife and hopefully children of my own."

"Of course," I note, "and quickly too."

He tilts his head at me. "What ever do you mean?"

"All those balls," I raise my eyebrow. "Everybody knows they are intended to find you a match."

"Ah, yes." The length of his body seems to deflate at the mentioning of the subject, and then he looks at me, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. "Tell me, Katniss," he says, his tone faintly mocking, "why has your father never requested an invitation to one of these balls on your behalf? Do you detest me ever so greatly?"

I laugh, "Before this, we didn't know each other. I for one have no interest in marrying a man that I don't know, however rich or handsome he may be."

Peeta wiggles his eyebrows. "Ah! Yet again, you admit you think me handsome!"

I lift one of the embroidered foot pillows off of the ground and toss it to his side of the carriage. "I swear, Peeta, if we weren't trapped together in this carriage, I would kill you."

He grabs and my projectile and grins. "Threatening a member of the royal family is a punishment fitting of death. And assault too! We might as well pull over and hang you right here."

I roll my eyes at him and turn over to the window. "Look," I say, taking sight of our surroundings. "Look how pretty."

Outside the window falls a dazzling sunset of blue and pink and the most lovely shade of orange. It's pretty, that much I admit, but it isn't something I would comment on in any other situation. But I am meaning to make Peeta mine, and it sounds like something a lady would say.

Peeta peeks through the carriage's curtains. "Oh," he says, his voice lowered. "That's my favorite color."

"Which one?" I ask, turning away from the window to stare at him.

"The orange," he says, "sunset orange. Back in the Capitol it always reminded me of everything good in the world. It's funny how among all that luxury it is the things of nature that carry the most beauty."

He looks almost iridescent in the light of the carriage's gold lining, his eyes sparkling as he stares intently at the scene before him. He's beautiful, and it isn't because of his jawline or the way his nose is shaped.

_No wonder so many girls want him._

"My father said something like that to me once," I tell him. I don't mean to share an anecdote of my father, the words just slip from my mouth. "Something about how every gem in the world wouldn't stand up to a clear sky on a sunday morning."

"Haymitch said that?" he snorts, raising an eyebrow. "I never saw him as the sentimental type."

I catch myself, quickly covering with a lie. "He has his moments."

"Well," he pauses thoughtfully, leaning into the side of the carriage's padded walls. "Your father was right."

"You have a lot of gems in the Capitol, I imagine?" I ask, using the moment as an opening. I have to remember my real objective, the only reason I am in this carriage is because I need one thing from Peeta. _The ruby._

Peeta nods, "Yes, of course. Kinda goes with the territory."

"I have heard about the Lion's Ruby," I prod, trying not to sound too eager. "It is supposed to be brilliant."

Peeta lights up. "It's a pretty thing," he says. "I can show it to you when we get to the Capitol, give you a tour?"

I smile, Haymitch might be a lot of things, but somehow his plan was working. "Oh Peeta," I say, turning my voice up like a noble girl and reaching across the seat to wrap my arms around him. "That would be lovely."

The second my arms hit his shoulders I know it is a mistake. I have misjudged both the distance between us and the propriety of the action, because I fall into his seat with an 'oomph', my body colliding against his.

"Oh," I say, flustered as he pulls me upward in order to steady my body. "I didn't mean to…I'm sorry, Peeta."

"No," he says, shaking his head as I stabilize myself, readjusting my skirts and making sure my breasts haven't popped out of my dress. "It's - it's fine."

The rest of the morning is spent in an awkward exchange of small talk and half smiles. By the time we break for lunch, I'm practically exhausted from keeping up conversation.

We pull into a desolate spot of forest around half way through the day to eat. Peeta helps me out of the carriage, not that I need the help, his hand brushing against my forearm as he leads me to the blankets one of his people has set up for the two of us.

The meal is hearty, a thick brown bread served with a cool soup that tingles on my tongue. How I long to be sitting with the men and the serving girls, to be where I belong.

But nonetheless I sit in silence beside Peeta while we eat. Somebody offers me a drink of something alcoholic, an ale or a brandy perhaps, and despite the temptation I manage to turn it down.

"You're not much of a drinker?" Peeta notes as the man disappears with the pitcher.

"I don't think you would appreciate my vomiting in such a small shared space." I laugh, "But no, I'm not one for the drink."

"Because of your father?" he asks before shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he corrects himself. "That was far too personal, I didn't mean to intrude."

"That and people like him," I shrug. "I don't like to have my senses clouded. Nothing good ever comes out of that. You?"

Peeta reaches across the blanket, his hands brushing against my thighs as he takes a handful of berries from the basket. "I drink on occasion, but not on a journey. Makes me ill."

"Oh?" I add, not quite sure what to add to the conversation.

He nods, biting his lip. "My - my mother, she's like your father. She has a tendency to drink...she isn't as well tempered as Haymitch, however."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Well tempered?" I laugh. "Haymitch?"

He shrugs a little. "A comparison in Haymitch's favor must let you know how truly awful she is."

I shake my head. "I'm sure she's not that bad."

Peeta sighs, adjusting his body and leaning more into the cloth. "She is, I'm afraid. But luckily I am old enough to go away, and as you have attested, I will be married soon enough."

"Will you enjoy that?" I ask him. "Settling down?"

He wrinkles his nose. "I'm not opposed to the idea of marriage, I do want a wife and children. I can't say I wish to marry any of the women my mother has introduced me to."

"And why is that?" I laugh, "I'm sure they will find you a pretty girl to fill your bed."

"Well it isn't so much their looks as-"

"I'm sorry, sir," one of the men rushes up to us, interrupting Peeta. "A messenger has just arrived from the village with a letter for you."

"A letter?" Peeta asks, suddenly appearing alarmed. "Who on earth has sent a letter with such urgency?"

"It's from the King, sir. He has requested that you rush to Duke Heavensbee's country estate at once to speak with him on a matter of urgency."

At the mention of the King my throat goes dry and I have to swallow before I am able to look up at my blonde companion again. It almost feels weird to connect Peeta, who barely feels like a prince, to a man such as the King.

Peeta shakes his head. "Let me see that," he says, snatching the letter out of the man's hand. After scanning the piece of parchment over a couple of times, he looks up at me. "Alas, Katniss, I am afraid it is true. It seems my father has taken up residency with Duke Heavensbee and wishes for me to divert our travels immediately." He pauses, giving me a half smile. "I wish I could do something, but I must follow orders."

I shake my head, trying to contain the fear beating in my heart. "No," I say, "it isn't your fault."

Peeta shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, we will make it back to the Capitol in time. I hear Heavensbee's estate is absolutely lovely, I am sure you will be able to find something to do while I am occupied. Now," he says, reaching to stand with a sigh, "we better hurry along. I don't wish to make my father angry."

"Of course not," I say, "we wouldn't want that."

Peeta only smiles, reaching for my hand in an attempt to 'steady' me and guiding me back to the carriage. "Up you go," he says, his hands sliding against my sides as he gives me a boost into the seating compartment. There's something exciting about his touch. And although I know it's only because he's undeniably attractive, I have to chide myself internally to keep myself in check.

"The estate is only a few hours away," Peeta explains as he takes his seat across from me. "If we weren't already so delayed, I probably would have suggested we spend the night there anyways."

"That's...good," I reply, unsure of what to say. The conversation goes on like that for some time, Peeta explaining that Duke Heavensbee is some type of officer in his father's court, Peeta explaining how Heavensbee was set to be in charge of the Capitol's domestic affairs soon enough.

I listen intently, pretending to care eagerly of the palace affairs. It's a bore, though, and it isn't long before the woods outside of our windows stretch into village - and then, sooner rather than later, we are pulling into the estate.

The main house is a grand building of light stone several stories high with tall columns and grand steps that tie into a front terrace. It's an older home, reminds me a little of what Haymitch's estate might look like if it were larger and kept up.

As we stop along the entrance I take sight of a man walking up to the carriage. I might mistake him for a footman if there weren't five armed guards walking behind him, if his clothes weren't made of purple silk and covered in emeralds, if his skin wasn't so unmistakably stretched and covered in more rogue than Effie. No, that white powered hair can't belong to anybody but the King.

"Katniss," Peeta says, taking my hand as we step outside of the carriage. "I would like to formally introduce you to my father, King Cornelius Snow."

* * *

**Author's Note: Dun! Dun! Dun! Bet you didn't see that one coming! So, Peeta is Snow's son? What do you think of the twist? How will it effect the relationship between Katniss and Peeta? What history does she have with the royal family? Remember to follow/favorite!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starviensafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I just started an everlark fic reccomendation blog, girlonfirerecs, so make sure to check that out!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creation. Big thanks to my beta for making this happen!**

* * *

The hairs on my back stick straight up as I take in the man's presence. Peeta's arm is looped through mine as we walk down the stone path. I feel suddenly conscious of my dress, suddenly aware of my status as an imposter.

Peeta might be easily tricked into believing me, but King Snow, as ruthless as he is known, will certainly not.

Peeta gives a slight bow before speaking. "Father," he says, nodding in my direction, "this is Katniss, the daughter of Lord Abernathy. She is accompanying me on my way to the Capitol."

The King's face forms what must be a smile. "Ah, yes," he says with a flourish, his eyes scanning me as if I was a specimen on a table. Then, not even bothering to address me, he turns towards his son. "It is rather cold outside, you know how women wilt. Bring the lady indoors and then come and have a drink with me and Plutarch. We have things to discuss."

At that Snow waves his hand dismissively. "Of course, Father," Peeta replies with a downturned nod. Sighing, he pulls me along the pebbled courtyard in the direction of the main steps. There is an odd assortment of marble statues lining the yard, fancy white clad ladies adorning monstrous fountains and naked winged men at the center of unusual garden displays. I admire them for a moment. They are stunningly unique, if not a bit weird, in comparison to dull angels and anatomical studies I have seen in most wealthy houses.

And then, just as I am taking in what I can only assume to be an artist's rendering of an oversized duck with fairy wings, a shrill bark goes through the courtyard, causing every head, including mine and Peeta's, to whip around.

"You," Snow yells out at one of the soldiers. The tone of his voice, which still carries the same flourished lilt that he used with his son, seems somehow crueller now, almost mocking. "There are a good fifty paces between this carriage and that door. Now, I am sure I don't known nearly as much as a young man of your...caliber, but it doesn't seem like a good idea to allow my son, your _crown prince_ , to walk unaccompanied for that time?"

As his words echo through the courtroom, several guardsmen scatter throughout to walk beside the two of us. The King's anger seems to cut the air in half, an uneasy feeling scattering through every soul in the yard.

"No," Snow says, smiling. "I didn't think so."

"I'm sorry," Peeta says, whispering in my ear as we stroll towards the main door, "he's like that with everyone."

The inside of the estate is decked in the latest fineries. Long, colorful tapestries cover the high marble walls and gilded embellishments line an ornately carved wooden ceiling. It must have been recently updated, because it rivals even the Capitol's more expensive homes in terms of style.

Peeta keeps my hand entwined in his arm as we walk through the entrance hall. I lean my head into his neck a little as we follow the footman through the manor's maze.

"It's pretty," I say, feigning amazement. The place is nice, sure, but the nature of my true occupation requires me to spend time in homes like this. I can't help, however, but pick apart everything I pass by. Two gold coins for those gilded candle holders, four for the crystal hanging off the chandelier...it takes everything in me not to slip a jade statue that's _just laying there_ into my pocket.

Peeta's body vibrates calmingly as he talks. "Just wait until you see the Capitol during the height of court season. The splendor of it all...you will be hard pressed to find anywhere in the world that can counter the grandness of it."

 _Or the amount of jewels weighing down the necks of idiots,_ I think.

"I'm sure," I reply, sighing a little absentmindedly.

"You don't seem all that excited."

"I am," I hurry to placate him. "I look forward to having you show me around your city, and I certainly don't mean to cause offense…"

"But…" his blue eyes stare into mine. "You can tell me, I will hardly be offended by any statement that comes out of your mouth."

"It's the crowds," I lie. "I'm not all that fond of them."

"Oh?" He says, raising any eyebrow. "Why did you agree to accompany me, then?"

"I needed to get out of Seam for a while, you know?" I let out a little breath and force the next line. "And quite honestly, you were leaving and well, I wanted the chance to...become better acquainted with you," I turn my head downward, "I'm sorry, that's far too forward.

He blushes bashfully. "No," he says, "it isn't too forward. I enjoy your company, I want to get to know you better as well. That's why I asked you to join me."

"My lady," the footman says with a little bow as he stops in front of a dark wooden door. "Your room."

After giving a slight curtsy to Peeta in the name of propriety, I turn and open the door to my room. It must be one of the nicer guestrooms. The walls are a panelled mahogany that pulls into a ornately carved fireplace of the same wood. There are two inset windows as well, from which dim light shines into the room, a stark contrast to the heavy dark wood of the four poster bed and furnishings.

On the desk somebody has laid out a small bowl of water and a cloth, and so I wipe the journey's dirt from my face and hands before digging through the drawers in search of a comb. By the time I find something to brush my hair with in one of the bottom drawers the clock is already ringing on the next hour and it isn't long after I have fashioned my hair into a somewhat presentable braid that the maid, a dark little girl not much older than my sister, comes to fetch me.

"Dinner is being served, my lady," she says, one hand on the doorframe.

I nod in reply, and wish a sigh I follow her outside the room and through an ever-confusing series of tapestry covered hallways. I try to make a map in my head of the route we take, _just in case_ I need to make a run for it.

I'm surprised to find, as I enter the dining room, that Peeta is my only companion at the table.

"My father and the others are in meetings, I'm afraid," he says with explanation as the footman pulls my chair out. "I was excused only on the policy of it being rude to make a guest eat alone."

"Oh," I say, as I take in the foot placed before me. "You don't need to stay on my account."

Peeta laughs. "Oh, I was thankful for the excuse. Trust me, I enjoy food and your company a whole lot better than my father's and politics. Besides, after dinner there will be dancing and drinks in the gardens."

"Dancing and drinks?" I ask, taking a large sip of the brandy on the table. "With your father?"

Peeta nods absentmindedly. "Yes, with my father and some of my advisors in an hour or so. Tell me," he pauses as the serving girls place a large roasted duck on the table, "what do you think of the classical painters?"

At my look of relative non-interest he laughs. "I'm sorry, I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"No," I tell him, holding back the wrinkle of my nose, "we can discuss painters if that's what you want."

He just shakes his head and takes a sip from his gilded chalice. "How about this, Katniss, what is your favorite style of sword?"

I spend the next hour heatedly debating form and metals of various weapons with Peeta. He knows his stuff, that much I have to admit. I guess, as the son of a King like Snow, it isn't surprising he has had the finest training at just about everything. And that's clear later too, as we dance.

We arrive last to the courtyard, our discussion of various weaponry carrying on long enough that a servant has to fetch us. Peeta leads me out to the front garden with his hand resting on my arm. "I wouldn't want you to trip," he explains, blushing, "women's shoes don't do all that well on stone."

I just roll my eyes at his explanation and let him lead me out to the front. Laid out on the courtyard is a tent of pale blue cotton and an arrangement of desserts. And on a mahogany table lined with colorful, foreign fruits and velvet decorative runners sits the King and his two companions.

"You're late, my son," King Snow chided lightly at Peeta.

He's noticeably far more relaxed in this setting, a glass of wine at his lips and a footstool lifting up his ruby adorned shoes. Oh, what I would give to just snatch one of those gems in front of his beady little eyes.

Peeta just smiles at his father in response. It's one of those forced smiles, more like the ones serving girls give to handsy nobles than that of a son to a father. "Katniss, this is Duke Heavensbee," Peeta says, bowing in turn to the older of the gentleman, and that's...

"Lord Seneca Crane," the man says, jumping up and pressing his pudgy lips against my hand. His beard is oddly combed, cut like something a flamboyant jester would sport. _Oh great,_ I think, _what silly trend has taken over the Capitol now?_ I wrinkle my nose at the thought of Peeta sporting the same style.

And then, as I move past the man's atrocious beard I can do nothing but freeze. I know this man. I have met Lord Crane before, minus the beard, not a year ago at a party where I lifted a prized emerald necklace from a noble woman's neck.

But luckily, at least for now, Lord Crane doesn't seem so interested in my identity as he does my bosom. "You must be Peeta's," he clears his throat, " _companion_. The daughter of Lord Abernathy?"

"Yes," Peeta says, his hand suddenly on the small of my back. "This is Katniss, it's a pleasure to introduce the two of you," he says dismissively, turning to me. "Can I trouble you for a dance? I am afraid I'm not terribly quick on my feet, but hopefully your grace will be enough for the two of us."

Thankful for the opportunity to get away from Crane, I accept Peeta's hand, taking him into a slower dance across the courtyard. He's a little clunky, but the years of expert training make up for it. He knows the steps far better than I do, at least, and easily adjusts for my inexperience. Somewhere in the background somebody starts playing a fiddle, and I'm pretty sure Heavensbee grabs one of the serving girls, a pretty redhead, away from carrying drinks, and on to the dance floor.

It's a gay affair, Peeta and I. He's breathless and laughing at every misstep we both take, lively in that way only young boys can be. He isn't half bad, not even in the presence of his father. Naive, but untainted in a way that makes dancing with him under the soft twilight of lamps feel like swimming in the sun.

I have noticed that about Peeta. Something about him makes everything around him brighter. His men smile wider when he sits beside them and chats. Even back at Lord Abernathy's, he was always quick with a joke or a placating statement to soothe any tensions. And maybe that's just because he has inherited his father's silver tongue, but unlike King Snow he never makes me feel like I am crawling out of my skin.

"Lady Katniss," Duke Heavensbee says, tapping on my shoulder as the fiddle comes to a slight halt. "Mind switching partners for a moment?" he says, passing off the redheaded girl to Peeta.

I bite my lip, but nod anyways, a little disappointed at the moment's magic disappearing. "Of course," I tell him, accepting his hand and sliding into the steps of the next song.

"Look at that," Duke Heavensbee says to me as we make a turn farthest away from the tent, nodding towards one of the unusual sculptures at the center of the gardens.

"The duck?" I question, taking another look at the odd statue I had noticed earlier.

"It's not a duck," the Duke says with a slight smile. "I thought you would recognize it, being the daughter of man like Lord Abernathy." And then, in the slightest of whispers, he leans into my ear and says, "It's a Mockingjay."

My eyes widen at that, and as we cross to switch partners I take in the statute again. Now I can see it, the split tail and thin long beak. It is a Mockingjay after all, nothing like the ugly distorted duck I had seen at first.

I nearly laugh at my foolishness as I take Lord Crane's hands. I hadn't expected to see the bird here, not in the home of a man such as Duke Heavensbee. The birds are something of a relic, an old symbol from a failed rebellion.

The story of the Mockingjay is some part truth, some part legend. A long time ago the things were simple songbirds only known in the area that surrounded the Seam. Notable for being able to replicate notes of music, the birds eventually came into fashion among the noble class. They were captured from near and far and caged in the homes of the wealthy. Then, around the turn of the uprising, the reigning king decided that he, and only he, should have control over the birds. They were once again rounded up, this time brought to the Capitol and caged in a net that ran along the ceiling of the palace.

The story goes that the birds refused to sing. Some say it was about them being surrounded by all those people and noises. Others say it was all them together, so far from nature. Either way, the King was angered by this. He proclaimed that if they refused to sing, they would die. And so all the birds were rounded up and brought in a cage to the palace garden where they were to be killed. But then, in the middle of the night, a young rebel snuck past the guards and unlocked the cage door, releasing the birds into the sky. The King tried to capture them, but with a rebellion in his midst they grew out of control, eventually returning to their native location.

Mockingjays became a symbol for all of those who rebelled against the Capitol. These days they aren't discussed in polite company, and never even mentioned in front of a noble. When we were just kids, Gale etched one into an old piece of furniture and his mother, so frightened by the notion, made him burn it in the kitchen fire.

* * *

It's hard to sleep, despite being terribly exhausted from all of the day's affairs. After the conversation with Duke Heavensbee, I found it hard to dance with Peeta - and now I find it even harder to rest. Thoughts of Mockingjays and home and my little sister pervade my thoughts. I even think of Peeta, of how naive he is, how innocent…how much he already cares for me. How enthralled he is by me should make me feel great, like I'm winning, but even the prospect of the ruby doesn't quell that gnawing guilt inside of me. It's one thing to slip a necklace from somebody's neck, another to play with their heart.

It is in the early morning of the hours before I hear the quiet knocks on the door. At first, they are so soft I assume it must be a mouse or a servant passing through the halls, but when my name starts quietly echoing through the crack under the door I finally get up.

"Yes," I say, a little annoyed as I swing open the door.

My eyes widen at the sight before me. Wearing nothing but his night shift is Peeta, wide eyed and as restless as I am.

"Katniss," he says, his eyebrows raising at the sight of me. It's then that I remember that I too am in my bedclothes, a thin nightgown with no support. Squinting a little, I pull my shawl over my shoulders.

"What?" I ask him. My breath hitches at the implications of him coming here, and what we undoubtedly wants from me at this hour.

"I don't mean to be inappropriate, or come to you when you are in bed...I don't wish to ruin your reputation." He shakes head, "I - just, can we talk?"

* * *

**Author's Note: So, why do you think Peeta came to her room? And what's up with Plutarch? Let me know in the comments below and don't forget to favorite/follow/kudos/whatever.**

**As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I also run a fic rec blog called girlonfirerecs over there. You can follow my beta raissapl over there as well!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creation. Kudos to my beta for all of her help with this story.**

* * *

"Talk?" I blink at him questioningly, but let him in anyways, closing the door behind us. "What do you want to...talk...about?"

I swallow audibly as I lead him towards the bed and motion for him to sit down beside me on the edge. He looks at it questioningly, perhaps a little scandalized at the thought of being in such an intimate position with me.

"I don't know," he takes a deep breath, "I don't know if you're the right person to talk about this with, but I feel like I can _trust_ you. Can I, Katniss?"

I narrow my eyebrows at him. "Of course, Peeta. You can _trust_ me," I tell him, like my words mean anything. I bite my lip, hoping that the tremble in my voice doesn't show.

"Good," he lets out an airy laugh. Then he bites his lips, his face narrowing into concern, "I think, I think my father's going to start a war."

War. War? War! I shake my head, pausing for a moment to ascertain if I heard him correctly. " _What?_ " I ask, stuttering.

"I know," he sighs. "A war."

I swallow hard as I regain my senses. "A war?" I question him. "Why would your father start a war?" His statement confuses me. The country was hardly being challenged or in threat of invasion. _Why start a war in peacetime?_

"Money," he shrugs, twisting his mouth, "You might call it greed. That's why he called me here, to work on strategy in the privacy of the woods. He wants to expand the empire, move the borders into the _surrounding region_."

"He wants to conquer Coin," I say knowingly.

General Coin, as she is known, is the female leader of the Thirteenth Legion. The Thirteenth Legion, much like the Mockingjay, is something of a legend where I grew up. During the rebellion the opposing forces split into thirteen legions based off location. While the first twelve were easily conquered, the Thirteenth Legion, a small collection of cities that laid along the southern border, were left alone. With their mining and weaponry skills, and the King's already depleted army, it just wasn't worth the trouble. Since then the Thirteenth Legion had all but closed themselves off from the rest of the country, forming a tightly knit trade route and making themselves one of the biggest suppliers of weapons in the area.

Going after Coin, even if Snow wins, will be suicide for the common man. No doubt any war would mean deaths on both sides. And for what? So King Snow can build another gilded palace?

But the real question isn't where Snow's intentions lie. It's why Peeta is telling me this. Why he is confiding in me about something so important. Surely, even if he disagrees with his father's sentiment, he ought to keep it to himself. For all he knows, I could turn right around and report tonight's conversation to the King.

Or worse, report it to the lingering rebellion. Report it to Gale.

"There will be a lot of deaths," he comments absentmindedly. Then, sighing, he asks, "What do you think, Katniss?"

There's that dangerous edge in his voice. The one I often hear in Gale's these days. That edge that hides a burning fire and a desire to do _something stupid._ Maybe Peeta isn't the pushover I've taken him for. Maybe behind that outward kindness and complacency there's a warrior. He is Snow's son, after all.

"What do I think?" I raise an eyebrow, shaking my head. "I think that it doesn't matter what I think, because whatever you or I may believe, your father is the King and it would be best for you to stay in line." I sigh. "I care about you Peeta," I lean into him, my voice raspy, " _don't do anything stupid, okay?_ "

He doesn't respond immediately, just looks downward, biting on his lip. So I pull my body upward on the bed, mission in mind. Resting my head against the crook of his shoulder, I let out an audible sigh.

It's the perfect moment to kiss him. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can almost see Haymitch yelling at me to _just do it._

So I give into the flicker of firelight, to the way his lips look drawn tight, to the press of his side against me, and I _kiss him._

It's a soft touch of the lips, nothing more, an anxious kiss dominated by the passing conversation rather than lust or need, but it's a kiss nonetheless, and when he finally lets go of me, when his eyes catch mine in the afterglow, I swear I'm going to burst.

"I-I'm sorry," I spit out, internally cursing myself for the impulsive action.

He laughs shallowly. "Please, please don't apologize. If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I came to you and I shouldn't have," he narrows his eyebrows, frowning. "I'm sorry, Katniss. This was inappropriate."

And just like that, he's sitting up and rushing out of the room, an apology laced smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him.

 _God_ , I think, _what an idiot I have been_. He hadn't even wanted to kiss me...hadn't even tried to get handsy. How bad at this must I be, if I can't even get a noble boy to make a move for my bed?

* * *

I wake to a startling flurry of servants buzzing around me. And before I know it, I'm being pushed and prodded into stays and a rich green dress that is most certainly not mine. I barely notice the pearls lined across the cuff, too preoccupied with the announcement that I am to join 'Prince Peeta' in the courtyard for breakfast.

And so, before I even have the chance to breathe or curse last night's mistake, I am being led out of my room and back through the maze of a house to the courtyard where I danced last night.

The sun is bright, and I have to squint to ascertain my surroundings when I'm pushed out of the front door. The morning set up is not unlike the one from last night, except this time the table is piled high with more food than spirits.

And Peeta? He's posed in the courtyard, practicing his gait with a set of what appears to be brand new swords. A gift from his father, perhaps?

He doesn't take notice of me at first, too busy examining his new possessions. Finely made and most likely expensive, they look nearly ethereal in the morning sun. I'd give anything to be in his place right now, to hold one of the finely made things in my hand.

Brushing past the table where the rest of them are laid out, I take the weapons in. Upon further inspection, the swords seem to be laid with an inset of small emeralds. I could probably get at least a hundred coin if I were to sell them.

"Oh," Peeta says, dropping his sword to his side and trotting over to me, "Katniss."

I look downward, biting my lip in hesitation. "I think we're supposed to have breakfast," I shrug, "at least, that's what I was told."

He reaches across the table to set his weapon down, inadvertently brushing against me as he pulls back. "Yes," he says, blue eyes shining bright like the lake on a calm summer day, "I invited you here. Figured we could talk."

"Well," I say, a little grumpily. "Next time can we talk at a more reasonable hour."

He laughs, his hand reaching out for mine and pulling me into the seat beside him. "I apologize, I'm afraid I'm still on military hours, my _dear_."

I nod, looking away from him and trying to focus on the feast in front of me. There are more meats than I can count. Thick sausages of pork and chicken and beef, little croissants stuffed with some kind of bird. Past the breads and berries, there's also ale and a sweet dish made of eggs, butter, sugar and currants.

"About last night…" Peeta starts.

I cut in, stopping him. "I don't want to talk about it, I was a fool. I'm sorry."

He smiles ruefully. "No," he sighs, "you weren't a fool. You couldn't be a fool. It was me who was the idiot. I'm afraid I pushed boundaries I really shouldn't have. I'm sorry if I placed a burden on you or pushed you into doing something you didn't want to do."

I frown. "Do you _mean_ ," I swallow, leaving the implication, "or…"

He puts it bluntly. "I mean the kiss."

I laugh, with last night's talk of treason and war, here we are discussing a kiss. It's fitting, really. "You didn't push me into that," I snort. "I was the one who kissed you, remember?"

"Yeah," he says, running a hand through his hair, "but I shouldn't have come to you, it was wrong."

I scoff. "You're acting like you forced yourself on me. I let you in, Peeta."

"I know," he frowns, "but sometimes people, women especially, feel the need to _do things_ for me because of who I am. I don't want you to, to feel like you have to…"

I've never thought of what that must be like. To have everybody wanting to give you everything. A man can hardly complain about having half of the country's women, maybe even more, willing to bed him. But at the same time...it must be impossible to have any kind of real, meaningful relationship, romantic or otherwise. After all, here I am. Deceiving Peeta for gain like everybody else.

I laugh, and in an attempt to draw the conversation away add in. "Do I seem like the type of woman who does something she doesn't want to?"

He shakes his head, popping a dark berry into his mouth. And that's when I freeze, because I know that berry, I know it well. Haven't I used it on more than one occasion myself? Used it for the purpose I imagine it is being used now.

_Nightlock._

My mouth widens and my eyes shoot straight out. "Stop!" I scream at him, lunging across the table. "Stop!"

* * *

**Author's Note: Let me know what you thought of the chapter in the comment section below. And don't forget to follow/favorite/kudos/etc.**

**So...what do you think is up with the war deal? And how do _you_ think the nightlock ended up on Peeta's plate? If you are enjoying this story, you might like my other fic, Coal Black, Water Blue, which includes Lord Peeta in a World War II era setting.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. I only own my original work. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. Big thanks to my beta for the quick turn around of this chapter!

* * *

The deadly stain of nightlock smears across his lip, the dark red juice dripping downward as I slash the berries from him. I let go of a panicked cry as he finally looks at me, a stunned blink of shock falling over him as he moves to wipe his chin.

"I-I…" he stutters as I force a glass of water on him. "I didn't know."

I let out a breath as the beating of my heart decreases. "No shit," I respond, not bothering to censor my language. "Somebody, somebody tried to-"

"Kill me?" he almost laughs, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I caught on to that."

At that, somebody pulls me backward, a strong hand dragging me off of the table. " _Miss,"_ says the hushed voice of a red-headed guard, "you're going to need to come inside." My fists curl in apprehension, but I comply anyways, giving in when Peeta nods at me and stands up to follow. "Come on," Peeta says, loosening the guard's grip on me and taking my arm, "My father's going to want to know about this."

* * *

There's something about being so close to death that tends to make even the strongest of men tremble. Even Peeta, who seems to have a gift about these things, is still shaking, I notice, as we wait for the King. I'm not a stranger to that kind of fear. I've seen it many a time before when on the job, even experienced it myself after narrowly escaping a sword or clinging to a building's side. But nonetheless, I find myself unable to calm Peeta, much less say anything that will bring me closer to the ruby.

"You're going to be alright," I reassure him rather unconvincingly as we sit beside each other in some kind of overly furnished parlor. When he doesn't respond I reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "You're still here, Peeta. You survived."

"I could have died," he lets out in a low whisper, staring blankly ahead.

I bite my lip, unsure of how to placate him. "Yes, you could have. But you didn't."

"No," he says, giving me something between a chuckle and a scoff, "I didn't. _Because of you._ "

I shake my head and lean deeper into the plum colored chair. "Not really. For all you know, if it wasn't for me you would have never stopped at Lord Abernathy's, which means you wouldn't be here now, and perhaps then none of this would have happened."

He places a hand on my leg, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the brocade of my dress' outer lining. "You can't blame yourself for this," he says softly, "I don't think you had much control over my ending up at your father's. I think that was more or less in the hands of fate."

I blush guiltily, because I did have control over Peeta ending up at Lord Abernathy's. In fact, I'm the very reason he ended up where he is right now. But of course, I can't mention any of this to Peeta, so instead I scoff. "Fate robs carriages these days? Things must be worse off than I thought."

As soon as the jab slips from my lips I freeze, wide eyed. You're not supposed to talk about that type of thing, not supposed to mention economic instability or inequality; at least, you ought not to when waiting for the King's audience.

Peeta seems to catch on to my sudden panic. There's no panic, no tremor or shake in his fingers, when he rests his hand assuredly against me. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Katniss," he sighs, tapping his fingers against my leg. "I know we haven't known each other for long, but after last night, after today, you should know that I trust you."

 _I trust you._ It's enough to make me want to hurl myself out the window. I don't know why it hits me the way it does. I should be happy, after all, that he feels this way about me. But I can't. Maybe it's because he always gives so much of himself to me, maybe it's because I've come so close to losing him. Either way, I know that whatever attachment I have to him is dangerous. If I want to come out of this job with my head still attached to my body I'm going to have to do whatever it takes to rid myself of these...sympathies I feel towards Peeta.

"Hey, Katniss," Peeta says, breaking my thoughts.

I look up at him, at his bright blue eyes, at his easy, giving smile. "Yeah?" I ask, "Is something wrong?"

"No," he shakes his head, swallowing hard. "I just, I mean, this whole thing with the nightlock has got me thinking about the things I wish I would have said more had I got the chance and I just..." he stops rambling and sighs. "I'm glad you agreed to come with me, Katniss. I think that-"

Before he has the chance to finish we hear it, the booming echo of boot steps on marble floors. The King's men dressed in their finest livery, about a half dozen more than usual. They've trumped up security, it seems, in light of recent developments.

"Lady Katniss," the King greets, nodding in my direction as he enters the room, "I hear that I owe you a great debt of gratitude. All of Panem does, it seems."

I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the lacy ensemble of cream and pink that reminds me more than a little bit of a puffed pastry.

"No, no, Lady Katniss," the King turns his head pointedly, pacing throughout the room in an aggrandized manner. "Don't be modest. You have saved the Crown Prince from near certain death. That is an action worthy of honor. Of course, I have made arrangements to...duly compensate your father, but nevertheless I cannot express my greatfulness. You have saved my son, my heir, my lifeline. That, my dear, is an accomplishment worth boasting about."

I don't respond to that, King Snow doesn't even give me the chance. Before I know it he's leaning over Peeta, dabbing his mouth with a ruby colored handkerchief and explaining that our travel plans have been expedited. "I want you back to the Capitol as soon as possible, Peeta," he rasps, coughing into the handkerchief. "I'll handle this matter, in the meantime it is best you make your way back home. I can't have my son outside city walls. _Not_ with the way things are now."

At the King's words I swallow, making an attempt to cover up my surprise. _Not with the way things are now._ There's no doubt in my mind that he's referring to the plans of war Peeta mentioned. Perhaps he intends on striking sooner rather than later.

"Of course, father," Peeta nods dutifully, taking my arm in his. "We'll be on our way before sundown."

* * *

True to his word, Peeta has the entire convoy packed and ready to go before even two hours have passed. I'm left to my own devices, left alone, rather, in some kind of aging parlor on the far end of the estate. I wonder how proper ladies deal with this kind of thing. If they often find themselves as bored as I am now. If I were a man like Gale I would be out there with the rest of the men helping to make travel arrangements, but instead I'm here, rotting in a room that clearly hasn't been updated since Haymitch was a child.

Somewhere towards the end of the first hour I start wondering who would have the motive to kill Peeta. It's not that I care terribly, or even that the knowledge itself is all that useful to me. But whoever the would-be-assassin is, they've jeopardized the job, jeopardized Peeta. The rebels are the most obvious answer, but anybody in their organization who has that kind of access would have gone directly for King Snow. It must be somebody with ulterior motives then, perhaps a party from the Capitol. I don't know enough about court politics to ascertain who the running suspects are.

As I reach a dead end on theories, I kick my feet up against the settee arm rest and start to play a game in my head. Scanning the room before me, I take in items of value and try to devise ways to sneak them out of the room. I'm halfway through a plan to steal a set of pearl covered potpourri boxes when Peeta arrives.

"Well you look mighty comfortable," he says with a jaunty laugh as he swings the door open. Taking in my rather relaxed appearance, and the feet slung across the settee, he props himself up against a side table and offers me his hand. "Come on," he says, "we'll want to get a move on it. You can sleep in the carriage."

I sigh, accepting his hand and letting him pull me up to a standing position. He's dressed in his uniform now, a sword at his belt. As we walk through the house and into the courtyard the sword swings ever so slightly against his coat, a tell-tale sign that he didn't attach the sheath correctly. Not that I'm going to inform him of that, of course. Men tend to be fussy about those things.

The stairs aren't set up when we get there, so Peeta helps me into the carriage, boosting me up with hands wrapped around my waist. He follows not long after, taking the seat across from me and closing the door. There are pillows and blankets laid out, I notice, as I take in my surroundings. A whole bed-set worth, with under sheets and what looks to be a quilt all folded up in the corner.

"Are we sleeping here?" I ask Peeta as the horses pull off with a jolting start. "For the night, I mean."

It's odd for a carriage of noblemen to travel through the dark, though I suppose most of the roads between here and the Capitol are nicer than those back where I'm from. We must really be in a hurry if they've decided to avoid stopping for the night.

He nods. "I hope you don't mind...if you would prefer, we could always stop at an inn."

I shake my head and try to avoid scowling at the thought of sleeping in my tightly pulled laces. "No," I tell him, "I'm fine."

Peeta gives me a half-cocked grin in response, his eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief as he surveys me.

"What?" I ask, annoyed. I notice now that his hair is slicked back instead of let down. Despite this, he looks more...handsome than normal, something about the uniform suits him better than court attire.

"Nothing," he says, "it's just that you're a terrible liar. I can tell you're not looking forward to spending a night in the carriage, Katniss. You have that look on your face, the one that always makes me wonder whether or not you want to kill me."

I shake my head, annoyed at the smugly knowing grin he's sporting. "It's not that I mind the carriage," I inform him with a brazen shrug of the shoulders. "It's just, you see, that my stays are tight and I'd prefer not to sleep in them."

Peeta practically chokes on his own saliva, turning bright red as he pulls from a coughing fit. "Your...stays," he chokes out.

"Yes," I say matter of factly, "my stays."

"Oh," he replies with a little squeak, "well I'm sure we could pull over or…"

I glare at Peeta, urging him to shut up. "You didn't really think I was inconvenienced by sleeping here, did you?" I ask, nudging my feet into his leg room.

He shrugs. "Many a lady has opposed to the idea."

"Many a lady?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. I try not to think about all the women who have most likely come before me. The ones he's bedded and flirted with and lost before a month or two's time is over.

He doesn't respond to my implication. "Carriages aren't the most comfortable of accommodations, and of course, there's the dark to worry about."

"The dark?" I laugh. "I'd worry more about bandits and potholes than the dark itself."

"I will have you know," he informs me with mock sincerity, "that the fear of the dark is a rather common one and a perfectly natural paranoia at that."

I laugh, pushing my feet against the edge of his seat. "Tell me, Peeta. Are you, our most esteemed Prince, afraid of the dark?"

He laughs, raising his voice in a contrived Capitol accent. "Oh, I'm _terrified_." I laugh at that, leaning farther back in my chair so that my feet rest on his side of the carriage. I'm focused on balancing between the two seats when he speaks up again, this time without the accent. "Of course, I have you with me now, so what do I have to be afraid of?"

I don't quite know why I do it, but I do it nonetheless. Before Peeta can say another word, I'm there, pressing my lips against his.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Let me know what you thought about the kiss in the comments below! Make sure to breeze by my weheartit to see the inspiration collection for this chapter!

As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and girlonfirerecs. My beta is also on there if you would like to check her out!


End file.
